The Empire vs OSHA
by Draxis
Summary: The Empire is not the only powerful evil organization left in the Galaxy. This tale, set shortly before Star Wars: A New Hope, describes an encounter between Darth Vader and OSHA.
1. Chapter 1

**I spent several years as a Quality Assurance inspector for my squadron, and I remember being the guy that made everyone wince when I entered the room. But I was also the safety representative for my unit, which meant that I had to deal with OSHA, the EPA, and various other government acronyms gone wild. After watching Star Wars one fine day, I noticed some things that sat poorly with my career at the moment. This story has nagged me ever since, so I finally freed it. Hope you enjoy it.**

**I don't own Star Wars, any of the characters, or any of the royalties. **_**Darn it!**_

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**The Empire VS OSHA**

**Ch. 1 of 7**

As the shuttle glided to a landing, Darth Vader and Grand Moff Tarkin dropped to one knee, surrounded by fifty stormtroopers assigned to the honor detail. The occupant of the shuttle was unidentified, but a message from Coruscant emphasized that the person aboard was a VIP. If it was the Emperor himself, there would be trouble if the proper decorums were not observed.

Vader didn't sense his master's presence, but the person inside the shuttle had a unique aura about him. It was an aspect of the dark side of the force that Vader wasn't familiar with. Was this some sort of new Sith knight? He'd heard the stories of old, but never expected that extinct breed to reappear.

The shuttle's boarding ramp extended and a short, slim man in closely cropped hair and a wrinkle-free black uniform stepped briskly down to the flight deck. His eyes darted back and forth, analyzing his surroundings in detail rivaled by the Empire's best sniper-scouts. His mouth was a disapproving line underneath a pencil-thin moustache. Held in his left hand was a clipboard so black that it appeared to absorb the light around it.

He looked around with an atmosphere of arrogance that put the average Imperial officer to shame. Spotting Vader and Tarkin, he approached with an expression of impatience.

Tarkin has risen to his feet, his features drawn tight. Vader sensed annoyance in Tarkin, but also fear. Who _was_ this little man?

The answer came quickly. "I am Chief Inspector Quinton Baltus Draggonellis from the Occupational Safety and Health Organization. I'm here to conduct your pre-operational workplace safety inspection."

Tarkin forced a smile. "Welcome aboard, Chief Inspector. I trust your flight here was agreeable?"

Quinton scowled. "Not particularly. The shuttle's seating was not ergonomically suitable for someone of my stature. I experienced some discomfort on my journey as a result. Hopefully I will find things here in a better state of workplace condition compliance. I wish to begin my inspection immediately."

Tarkin, naturally appearing somewhat gaunt and pale on a good day, was so tense that he looked positively skeletal. He stepped off a few paces, indicating that Vader should follow. Tarkin muttered under his breath, "The Occupational Safety and Health Administration is one of the few remaining organizations that the Emperor has yet to do away with. This inspector represents a significant threat to the operational status of the battlestation. I want you to personally escort him on his inspection and resolve whatever discrepancies he may discover. We need him to leave with a positive report in hand – nothing less is acceptable. Do you understand?"

Vader nodded slowly. "I am to assist him in his inspection and remedy problems on the spot. I am not allowed to kill him, no matter how much he needs it."

Tarkin glared up at him. "This is serious, Vader."

Vader leaned over Tarkin slightly. "Have you ever known me to joke, Grand Moff?"

Tarkin's scowl somehow deepened. "Come on."

The pair returned to the waiting inspector. Tarkin forced another smile. "Lord Vader, please see to the needs of Inspector Draggonellis." His gaze conveyed the additional message _Try not to aggravate him_. With a curt nod, Tarkin pivoted and headed off at a pace much faster than usual for the man.

Quinton cleared his throat. "_Chief_ Inspector Draggonellis."

Vader sighed. Fortunately the regulated breathing apparatus in his suit masked the disgusted sound from the _chief_ inspector's razor-sharp hearing. "Please come with me to our central safety office."

Quinton shook his head. "I do not need to see your safety office. I'm here to inspect the station as a whole, and I do not wish to waste time dawdling in your safety department. I rather suspect that things are quite safe down there." He sniffed as he looked around the hangar bay. His attention focused on the far wall next to the massive hangar doors. He headed toward the shield generator, Vader following as quickly as his dignity would allow. "I see that you are using the Corellian RX-322 hangar bay deflector field generator. Are you aware that there's a recall on that model? I don't see the placard that signifies an appropriate modification to this device." He quickly made a note on his clipboard. "Not a promising beginning to this audit, I assure you." He pointed at the starfield on the other side of the shimmering blue energy field. "What if this device failed? Whooooosh! Freeze-dried stormtrooper popsicles in low orbit over the station."

Vader pointed to the generator on the far side of the hangar entrance. "Our backup deflector would activate immediately. The response time of the device is under one tenth of a second."

Quinton squinted at the far generator. "Oh, good. So we're relying on not one, but _two_ improperly maintained Corellian RX-322 hangar bay deflector field generators. Double your pleasure. Tell me, is that suit rated for full vacuum exposure?" Without waiting for a response, he looked up at the Sith Lord with a practiced air of contained impatience. "Take me to the most recently completed construction zone. My inspection begins there."

Vader thought for a moment. He'd conducted his own evaluation of the construction on the station, encouraging the survivors that if they applied themselves a little more, they wouldn't share the fate of their until-recently living supervisors. "Follow me, Inspector."

"_Chief_ Inspector."

Vader sighed again.


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own Star Wars, any of the characters, or any of the royalties. **_**Darn it!**_

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**The Empire VS OSHA**

**Ch. 2 of 7**

They were only about fifty yards down the corridor leading from the hangar bay into the depths of the station when Quinton's slender finger shot out. "And _what_ is _that_!?"

Vader tensed, ready for action. He scanned the corridor ahead of them, seeking the obvious threat. In addition, he manipulated the dark side of the Force, a second sweep for something out of the ordinary. No threats presented themselves. "What?"

Quinton's finger slowly dropped, and it took Vader a second to realize that he was tracking one of the ever-present mouse droids scooting along the corridor on some errand. "What. Is. _That_? Ordinarily I would assume that it was a Class-II messenger droid, but without the Imperial safety markings that would keep me from stumbling over it, I can only assume that it is an assassination attempt cleverly disguised as a safety violation. What happened to this one – did the construction crews have extra deck-plate gray that they poured on it as a boorish prank? Does it only deliver classified messages, requiring it to be camouflaged? Surely there's a reason why this rolling trip hazard isn't sporting the required neon orange paint scheme?" His pen scratched across the papers on the clipboard. "Judging from your failure to notice that there was a glaring discrepancy rolling toward your feet like a thermite grenade, I suppose it would be silly of me to assume that this little aberration is an exception. You'll need to have them all repainted immediately."

Vader counted slowly to ten as he stepped over to a nearby wall monitor. "Let me speak to the supervisor of Central Droid Maintenance."

A grizzled man with grease on one cheek appeared on the screen. "Yes, Lord Vader?"

"Issue a recall of all the mouse droids. They need to be painted . . . fluorescent orange for safety compliance."

The man coughed nervously. "Sure thing, Lord Vader. But we have over 23,000 of those things rolling around. I'm going to have to order more paint, and I'll need a lot more people down here for this project. We can't just dunk them in a bucket of paint, you know. We've got vents and treads to tape off, and we're going to have to cycle them through the detail rooms. We're looking at about five weeks to get it all done – _if_ we can get the paint and tape in less than two weeks. I'll also need an authorization form 1045 from you to boost our budget. Otherwise we'll have to wait until the next fiscal quarter to place the order – and that's two months from now."

Behind him, Vader heard Quinton's pen scribbling away on the obsidian clipboard. He sighed again. "I'll have that form to you by the end of the day."

Turning back, he glared at Quinton. "This should be resolved soon. Shall we continue?"

Quinton nodded, sparing a final suspicious gaze at the retreating mouse droid. "Why not? I don't see how your batting average could get any lower."

Vader's gloves creaked as the leather stretched over his clenched fists.


	3. Chapter 3

**I don't own Star Wars, any of the characters, or any of the royalties. **_**Darn it!**_

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**The Empire VS OSHA**

**Ch. 3 of 7**

Quinton stood in the center of the descending elevator, Vader on his left and two stormtroopers to his right trying not to be noticed by the Sith Lord. "Nice elevator you have here. A little cramped, perhaps, but overall not too poorly designed. Dual exits sit well with me. However,"

Vader snapped out of his calming technique – one of the few Jedi mental disciplines that he still practiced. "However?"

Quinton pointed in a sweeping gesture at the upper half of the elevator. "I don't see a capacity limit placard. You _are_ aware that there is a weight limit to these things, right? What if twenty stormtroopers tromped in here intent on quelling a riot on the prison level? Twenty men, plus full trooper armor, add laser rifles and extra power cells . . . you have just exceeded the limit of this elevator by almost three hundred pounds. Stormtrooper pancakes – yummy! I don't envy the minion who gets to clean up after that. This shaft goes for over six miles. It will hit bottom at terminal velocity. Odds are it will keep going to the central reactor. If it manages to arrive, I think you just might have an even more critical problem." He shook his head as he finished his notes. "All for want of a simple placard reminding us of this elevator's weight limit."

Vader blinked. "You're serious, aren't you."

"As a heart attack."

Vader spread his arms, touching either side of the elevator. The troopers ducked out of the way. "But it's physically impossible to get twenty people in this elevator, much less twenty fully-equipped stormtroopers. If half that number stepped into this elevator, they'd be so packed in they would need to be blasted out."

"Workplace safety is no respecter of the word 'impossible'. Are you aware of the number of Empire-wide deaths from exploding navigational consoles last year alone?"

Vader shook his head. "No."

Quinton rolled his eyes. "Seventeen. All from explosive power surges in the supposedly user-friendly Amacron 50 navigational panel. It was specified in the all hands safety report that was sent out by the main office in February. Let me guess – you haven't reviewed it as required by Safety Regulation 1523442-X22-5.3A. It's just sitting in your central database gobbling up memory that you could be using to play chess against your targeting computers. Do you have insurance on the person driving this overgrown shotput? It would explain your lack of concern for his well-being."

Quinton's attention settled on the nearest of the pair of stormtroopers. Leaning close, he started up at the man. Holding up three fingers by the side of the trooper's head, he asked, "Trooper, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"I can't see your hand, sir."

"Of course not!" Quinton whirled on Vader. "Do you know that all protective headgear is required to allow at least 180 degrees of unrestricted vision? This poor fellow is lucky to see straight ahead. And I suspect that your own helmet fares little better. Who designed this thing – a rebel insurgent? No wonder we haven't found their hidden base yet! We couldn't see them if they were standing next to us!"

Vader opened his mouth to object, then realized that he was actually checking his own peripheral vision. His hand began to come up in the standard choking position, but Tarkin's instructions and the message from Coruscant came back to him. "I'll see that the situation is thoroughly researched."

"Yes, I'm sure you will." He returned his critical stare on the now very uncomfortable stormtrooper. Taking his pen, he reached up and rapped on the trooper's left lens. The trooper stepped back, startled. Stretching up on tiptoes, Quinton peered at the trooper's helmet. "I see the new ballistic-rated lenses haven't been issued yet. Are they all still sitting in your quartermaster's storage room with the 'URGENT – ISSUE IMMEDIATELY' markings on the crate turned to the wall? I guess I shouldn't be surprised – it's already painfully obvious to me that the visual range of this station's stormtroopers is in the priority list right before 'Coffee maker cords not exposed' and right after 'Eye Wash Stations in accessible locations.' You know, I haven't seen a single eyewash station the whole time I've been here. So when Snowball's lens shatters because he's not wearing the required ballistic lens, I suppose he'll just go careening off the walls until the impact dislodges the sharp bits decorating his cornea. Very cost effective."

"Trooper, lift your right foot behind you." The trooper looked at Vader, who gave a slight nod, then lifted his foot. Quinton leaned down to study the tread. "Very nice. I assume you are a good ice skater, trooper?"

"Sir?"

Quinton straightened. "Ice skater! As in skilled at staying on your feet in slippery circumstances. You must be to not have a broken arm or a concussion already." He turned to Vader. "As long as this fellow is on a carpet, he's probably all right. But since all I've seen around here are ridiculously smooth deck plating, I have to conclude that his slip-resistant treaded boots are in the crate next to his ballistic lenses. Unless this place is also doubling as a training facility for snowtroopers with extremely short skis." He scowled suddenly as he inspected the trooper's elbow joint. "Of course, putting this trooper on a carpet is an invitation to static electricity on an epic level. This is the outmoded C-14 trooper armor. I've heard of it, but never expected to see it in use. This is made out of a conductive material." He looked at Vader. "Congratulations, Lord Vader. You are in command of a lightning rod. How many of your people are walking around this station just looking for opportunities to bridge a circuit and really have a good time?" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the hapless trooper. "Keep him away from the Amacron 50's until I depart. I've no desire to see this monstrosity outturn a T.I.E fighter."

Before Vader could respond, the elevator reached the detention level and the doors opened. The troopers hurried out, intent on being anywhere but near Quinton. Vader envied them.

Quinton stepped out of the elevator and looked around. Two troopers stood at the ready, and the troopers from the elevator hurried over to relieve them. A quiet conversation took place, with several head nods toward the chief inspector, and when the relieved troopers departed, they gave Draggonellis a wide berth, almost bumping into Vader in their haste to board the elevator. The Sith Lord considered correcting them, but decided that he couldn't blame them. His own fight-or-flight instincts were in overdrive.

Quinton was inspecting the console for the central detention block communications and control grid. "I see that the Amacron LX communication panel was the deathtrap of choice for contacting the hereafter when building this station. No wonder the combat conductors are standing way over there." He looked around for another moment, then stepped up to the corridor leading to the cellblock itself. "I have to ask – where is the fire exit? I don't see another way out of this cellblock besides that elevator."

Vader looked at the officer on duty. He shrugged. "The elevator is the only way out of this area. You don't want fifty ways to get out of the detention block."

Quinton's eyes narrowed. "I didn't ask for fifty. I asked for two. One for normal days and one to use when a fire prevents you from using the 'normal day' exit. Or were you just going to lock yourself in a cell and wait to be rescued?"

The officer blinked. "Well, I never thought-"

"Obviously. Otherwise you'd have an answer to this save-your-life type question." Quinton looked at the stormtoopers and Vader. "Well? Does anyone have an answer as to why there's only one way out? And through an elevator to boot." Quinton's already slightly nasal voice became a high-pitched falsetto. "There's a raging fire! Let's all load up in the dangling convection oven!" His voice dropped back to its normal range. "What a remarkable plan for saving the Empire from having to pay out your pensions."

He headed back to the elevator. "How appropriate I should be in the detention block finding these discrepancies. I can fantasize about throwing the designers of this base in here. Blasted Geonosians have no concept of workplace safety. I suppose I shouldn't expect them to consider fire safety in their facility designs – I'm not entirely convinced that they completely understand _fire_ yet."

Vader stood there for a moment, feeling the cables that supported the elevator with the Force. A mere thought would send the elevator racing off to the depths of the station with its sole screaming occupant. Then he remembered Tarkin's admonishment, sighed and entered the elevator with the chief inspector.


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't own Star Wars, any of the characters, or any of the royalties. **_**Darn it!**_

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**The Empire VS OSHA**

**Ch. 4 of 7**

"What's missing from this picture? Someone? Anyone?"

Vader looked out of the shuttle's forward viewport at the massive laser dish that focused the Death Star's incredible planet-destroying laser. "I don't see anything amiss, Chief Inspector."

Quinton held the bridge of his nose, obviously pained by the ignorance Vader was displaying. He fished around in one of his pockets, finally producing a small laser pointer. Holding it up, he said, "Can you see that warning label?"

Vader set his helmet lenses to triple magnification. Etched in the side of the laser pointer was a tiny inscription warning the user of the hazard of vision loss through improper use of the device.

Quinton pointed out at the kilometers-wide laser dish. "I'm fairly certain that this overgrown swimming pool qualifies as a laser emitting device, yet the mandatory warning label is conspicuously absent."

Vader stared at him. "You want . . . a warning label . . . for a laser designed to destroy planets." He spoke slowly, not trusting his temper at the moment.

Quinton sighed, a controlled exhalation of stress. "_I_ don't want it. It's supposed to be there! How much liability do you feel is acceptable? Suppose a maintainer were to be blinded by this device. Without a warning label on this dish, by nightfall he'd be sporting your court-awarded cape and the Emperor's cane. Somewhere in this battle station is an OSHA manual that clearly delineates these requirements. Is there a short stormtrooper down there using it as a stepstool so he can see over the counter that he's guarding? Bah!" His pen scribbled away.

Vader tried very hard not to rip the control stick out of the shuttle's console as he maneuvered them back to the nearest shuttlebay.


	5. Chapter 5

**I don't own Star Wars, any of the characters, or any of the royalties. **_**Darn it!**_

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**The Empire VS OSHA**

**Ch. 5 of 7**

Quinton scowled at the door to the trash compactor. "I was going to ask where the sign designating this place as a biohazard was posted, but from the stench I am guessing that everyone on this half of the station already knows. Your door seals are obviously faulty, and I've no doubt that I'm being infected with some horrendous plague even as we speak. Let's get this over with."

Vader keyed in the access code, and the door swung open. The smell was so intense that even through his mask's filters he could detect the sour aroma. He followed Quinton into the narrow access corridor that led to the main chamber.

Quinton's pen was out again. "Lovely. There should be negative pressure air filters installed in each vent. Instead we're cycling the various diseases festering in this room through the station's air supply."

Just then a low growl echoed through the room. Vader's lightsaber was in his hand immediately.

Quinton's reaction was somewhat different. "Was that a dianoga? You are keeping a dionoga in here?"

Vader reached out with the Force and discovered to his surprise a rather healthy adolescent male specimen. "So it would seem."

Quinton shook his head. "Aside from the obvious health hazards a dianoga poses to your crew, are you aware that they are an endangered species?" He wrote a quick note to himself. "I'll have to alert my contacts in the Wildlife Preservation Agency. But transporting a dianoga is a difficult task – something beyond the capabilities of anyone I have yet to see assigned to this station. So logically it hatched in here from an egg, no doubt accidentally packed with a food shipment. This doesn't bode well for the bioscreening process that you are supposed to be using to make certain your food doesn't have any nasty bonus features. If an egg six inches long can slip by, I rather suspect that most microbes and viruses will have little difficulty avoiding your scans."

Vader had to concede that there were precious few explanations for a dianoga's presence, and none of them excused the bioscreening that was supposed to be applied to all incoming shipments. He made a mental note to have a discussion with the senior bioscreening officer later.

Quinton leaned into the room, careful not to sully his uniform. "And we find yet another human resources downsizing tool. Picture this – a fire in the cellblock forces you to escape through an air vent. You find yourself in here. Lo and behold, it's time to take out the trash. The walls begin to close in, but you stop them with a quick tap on the emergency cut-off switch."

Vader looked around the chamber. "I don't see a cut-off switch."

Quinton nodded. "That's what they'll put on your headstone. Just before they seal the envelope they bury you in." He turned and left the chamber, leaving a fuming Sith Lord to follow.


	6. Chapter 6

**I don't own Star Wars, any of the characters, or any of the royalties. **_**Darn it!**_

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**The Empire VS OSHA**

**Ch. 6 of 7**

They were heading to the tractor beam controls to ensure that the device had handicapped access, something that Vader quietly protested. To his knowledge no one stationed on the Death Star was handicapped. Quinton began citing OSHA regulations, and Vader quickly conceded. He wasn't looking forward to the chief inspector's opinion of the handicapped access to the tractor beam control module.

Quinton didn't disappoint. "You must be joking. That's it?"

They stood at the edge of the walkway and stared at the pod where the tractor beam controls were nestled. Even Vader conceded to himself that the walkway around the pod was rather narrow. It seemed to be an odd design to force someone to step around on a thin ledge to get to the far side of the module.

Quinton voiced what Vader was thinking. "What's the reason for this yawning chasm? I can't even see the bottom of this thing! I could shove a hundred stormtroopers down there and never miss them!"

A squad of troopers who just happened to be passing by picked up their pace noticeably.

Quinton turned and glared at Vader. "Whoever named this the Death Star was completely accurate, though I assume they were trying to imply that it was dangerous to be _outside_ the station. Personally, I'm surprised you aren't running out of people here. Who knows how many hapless people are already down there, tripped to their deaths by your stealth messenger droids. Has anyone ever heard the term 'guard rail' before?"

_Just one little nudge_, thought Vader.

Quinton continued to rant about the chasm, the mousebots, the trooper uniform defects, the lack of motion sensors to keep blast doors from closing on the by now endangered stormtrooper, and a myriad of other safety issues. Never before had Quinton seen so many violations in one day.

Then he stopped and stared at Vader's hip. The Sith Lord looked down. "What?"

Quinton snatched Vader's lightsaber from his belt. "I'm told that Sith Lords and Jedi build their own lightsabers. Is that correct?"

Vader somehow kept from choking the little man. "That is true."

Quinton inspected the saber hilt. "I'm fairly certain that these are supposed to have a safety of some sort. Suppose this is hanging on your belt and a child bumped into you? Suddenly there's an arm on the floor, and nooooooobody knows how it got there."

Vader simmered. "This station is relatively child-free."

Quinton eyed him sharply. "Oh, well in that case let's just throw out all the safety regulations, shall we? I think I'm going to start running willy-nilly up and down the corridors with scissors, looking for a mousebot to trip over. From what I've seen so far, this should be part of a new arrival's orientation brief. It's certainly no more dangerous than most other aspects of what should be a perfectly safe occupation." He flipped the lightsaber over in his hand. "And haven't we already discussed laser emission warning labels?" He waggled the saber at Vader. "Don't see one."

"It's there."

Quinton's gaze snapped back down to the offending lightsaber. "Really? Where? I didn't see it."

Vader's hand came up slowly, almost imperceptibly. Using the Force, Vader began to apply pressure to the lightsaber's activation switch. "It's on the blade emitter. It's quite small – you'll have to look very closely."


	7. Chapter 7

**I don't own Star Wars, any of the characters, or any of the royalties. **_**Darn it!**_

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**The Empire VS OSHA**

**Ch. 7 of 7**

Grand Moff Tarkin grew impatient. Vader had been with Chief Inspector Draggonellis far too long. When dozens of Imperial shuttles began to pop in out of hyperspace, he knew something bad had happened. Walking over to a communications panel, he signaled the Sith Lord. "Lord Vader, where are you? Is the chief inspector with you?"

Vader's mechanical bass echoed back. "He's busy inspecting the bottom of one of our extremely dangerous chasms. He mentioned something about guardrails during his inspection. We may want to incorporate them."

Tarkin sighed. "You've killed him, haven't you?"

"Actually, it was a lightsaber blade through the eye that killed him, but he was holding the pommel when it happened. Ironically enough, he was pointing out the lack of safety on the activation stud when the accident occurred."

Tarkin scowled. The arriving vessels were already signaling for permission to land. "Meet me in Hangar Bay 15 immediately." Tarkin cut the signal and started for the door.

The communications officer called after him. "Sir, they're all requesting landing clearance."

Tarkin didn't bother to look back. "Give it to them!"

Vader watched with interest as shuttle after shuttle passed through the energy field generated by the flawlessly operating Corellian RX-322 hangar bay deflector field generator. It gave him no small amount of satisfaction to see the 'improperly maintained' device working as advertised.

"Vader! This is all on your head!" Tarkin stormed across the hangar bay toward him, steering clear of the growing rows of Imperial shuttles.

Vader watched the last shuttle enter the bay and slowly settle into the last remaining landing pad. "The chief inspector's unfortunate accident had nothing to do with the safety inspection of the station. Once his body is retrieved, that will be quite evident. Your pet project will be completed on time."

Tarkin glared at him. "Don't be so certain. Were you aware that just as the Emperor once contracted with the cloners on Kamino for his army, OSHA had entered into a similar staffing agreement some years back?"

Darth Vader paused, realizing that a now familiar disturbance in the force emanated from each of the shuttles. "You don't mean . . ."

His question was cut off by the sound of three dozen landing ramps extending. Briskly walking down the ramps, 36 men in OSHA black bearing obsidian clipboards and Chief Inspector Quinton Baltus Draggonellis' face spotted Tarkin and Vader and marched toward them, jaws set in disapproval of the many safety violations they were already seeing.


End file.
